Deep Sea Diving Suits
by Iselia
Summary: After SD-6 has gone down, there are still obstacles to overcome. S/V. (Part Five updt. : 3/2/03)
1. Default Chapter

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
Arvin Sloane had found that having a gun pressed into the flesh at the side of your neck was not a calming experience. Today especially, he wished he wasn't on the receiving end of the barrel.  
  
"Sydney. Care to explain what is going on?"  
  
His favourite agent. The agent he entrusted with the most sensitive operations had played him for a fool. Or so it appeared. Despite his cold exterior, he prided himself on the fact that he still had a heart, that he cared for his agents. If she explained herself and put the gun down, maybe, just maybe he could still find a place for her. Pulling a gun on your superiors was frowned upon in the Organisation, but hey, at least it showed you had courage.  
  
He heard the safety click off.  
  
Maybe she was experiencing temporary insanity.  
  
Maybe she'd suffered a brain aneurysm.  
  
"CIA! Everybody freeze!"  
  
Maybe she was the mole. He looked up from the corner of his eye. "You bitch," he muttered. White hot humiliation and anger flooded his body. If he could just move an inch, maybe..four more agents spilled into the room and aimed their weapons at him. Maybe not.  
  
"Agent Bristow, keep your weapon still," the agents swept through the room. What were they doing, he didn't know. Bugs, guns, hell, maybe they even wanted his tax statement.  
  
"Nice people don't ransack someone's office while they're sitting here," he said between gritted teeth.  
  
"Nice people don't commit countless acts of treason and break international law," Sydney twisted the gun slightly and pushed harder, "Do they?"  
  
Barely metres away, Jack Bristow had his gun trained on the very people he'd worked beside for twenty years. He kept his eyes moving, not lingering long enough on anyone to let the expression of utter bewilderment and betrayal make an impact.  
  
Around him, CIA officers and agents moved. They made their way through the office like warm honey, oozing around corners and filling gaps. Like molasses, thick, black and stifling; once touched, it's stuck to you, tacky and unescapable.  
  
"Mr Bristow," someone said. It was a pleading, desperate whisper. It was full of terror and longing. The longing, he couldn't understand; was it for safety, for knowledge or for a lover never to be seen again.  
  
He looked down. Peeking from beneath a desk was Stacey. Stacey was barely past twenty. Somehow, she'd been recruited as a typist. She'd worked close by him, often typing his reports given on Dictaphone. He looked down at her. "Be quiet," he snapped. Tears sprung into her eyes and fell down her cheeks.  
  
"Am I going to die?"  
  
He stared straight ahead, gun sweeping across the room. The door was guarded, the room full of agents. For a split second, he wondered what he would do now; was he to stand around, to watch, to wait? He lowered his weapon and kept his eyes up.  
  
"Now listen to me," he hissed under his breath. "These people aren't going to hurt you. Trust me. Do whatever they say and tell them whatever you know. Will you do that?"  
  
The girl nodded. She was cowering now. Absently, he moved his gun to point at Sloane's office. Had he been pointing it at her, he wondered. It didn't matter. He watched as Sydney opened the door and stepped out. A roomful of guns were trained on her in an instant.  
  
"She's with us," he barked. They lowered their weapons. "Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn is waiting outside," Sydney nodded and smiled slightly. Fighting his spy training (you never showed emotion during an op) he allowed himself to return it. Maybe now things could start to resemble normal between them.  
  
  
  
-o-0-o-  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Arvin Sloane."  
  
"Are you aware of an organisation called SD-6?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How highly were you involved in the organisation?"  
  
"I was a mid-level director. Nothing more."  
  
"Please repeat."  
  
"I was a director."  
  
"Describe the position."  
  
Lie detector tests. Like every other agent, he was taught to fool it. It was somewhat harder when it was your own life on the line. He wriggled his wrists. The handcuffs were too tight and pinched his skin. The custodial outfit, a grey jumpsuit, was significantly less comforting then a tailored suit.  
  
The tester, a middle aged woman dressed in a plain black suit watched him carefully. She pushed her rimless glasses higher onto her nose and looked at the readout again. One of the readouts, anyway; they had him hooked up to at least four different machines, and were monitoring everything about him.  
  
He shuffled his feet. Cheap canvas shoes. He wasn't even permitted the dignity of his own footwear.  
  
"Mr Sloane, describe your position,"  
  
"Director."  
  
Again, he pulled against his restraints. If he could just see her badge, learn her name, he had some hope of gaining an upper hand, maybe pushing her buttons until the interrogation was delayed. Luck, it seemed, was not on his side. The badge was clipped beneath the hem of her jacket.  
  
"What's your name?" he grunted.  
  
"Describe the duties the position of director entailed."  
  
"No,"  
  
The tester sighed and placed the pen on the table. "Arvin," Oh, he thought, she was getting frustrated. Using a captives first name usually got them riled up. It was a standard trick, a way of invading their personal space. He was better then that. "We will do this until you answer my questions. It doesn't matter whether that takes forty minutes or forty years. You will answer the question,"  
  
"Describe your role as director,"  
  
"No,"  
  
"Describe your role as director."  
  
"No,"  
  
"Describe your role as director."  
  
"Never, you stupid woman,"  
  
She made a mark on the sheet. Sloane shifted again against the handcuffs. The ones at his ankles didn't bother him as much. They were lighter and looser. In the heavy cuffs, his hands looked like those of a very old man. How many litres of blood had these hands spilled? He didn't know. More importantly, he didn't care.  
  
"Explain your role as director,"  
  
Five minutes and he was feeling stressed. Forty years of questioning would grow tiresome. He opened his mouth and began to speak. 


	2. Two

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
A thick brown envelope dropped with a thwack onto Agent Bristow's lunch table. Agent Eric Weiss stood to one side, a faintly smug expression on his face.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"The bastard spoke," he said with a grin. Weiss was usually an irritation for Jack Bristow. Today, he was a godsend.  
  
Jack opened the file and skimmed over the test transcripts. There were pages and pages of them, covered in little marks and codes. At the rear, there were sheets of interview transcript. "Is this it?"  
  
Weiss snorted and shook his head and pointed to the printers whirring across the hall. "Opened like floodgates about ten minutes ago. Probably thinks the more he tells, the nicer we'll be,"  
  
"Sloane assured SD-6 agents that if they told him everything, he would be more lenient towards them. Perhaps he believes its true,"  
  
Weiss grunted and fiddled with the coffee machine against one wall. Makeshift offices and break rooms had been set up to handle the processing of the SD-6 intel. Jack didn't move. "You want something?"  
  
He frowned slightly. "Have them question him any moles he suspected. Ask about Sydney."  
  
Weiss raised an eyebrow and took a cinnamon donut from the tray. Coffee in one hand and food in the other, he glanced over at where the agents were assembling files and acting as couriers. An unfamiliar agent made his way over with another ten pages of transcript. "It may not be needed just yet," he said. "The typists are sending those through as fast as they can type 'em up," Jack opened the file. "The interrogation team are planning on mentioning you and Sydney when he starts to dry up. We want to get things out of him, Jack, but we don't want put you in danger,"  
  
Jack slapped the file closed. "We're already in danger, Agent Weiss. We have been for years. I'd suggest you get as much intel on Arvin Sloane as fast as possible. Sydney and I can take care of ourselves."  
  
Weiss watched him go. The interrogation team would be reluctant at first, resist Bristow's demands. And he would be demanding; Weiss knew he was heading for Sloane's cell even as he stood there, highly sensitive intel in his hands. But, like most people, they would eventually cave. And who were they to ignore him, anyway? He knew a lot more about this than most of them did. He took a sip of his coffee. It tasted like soap. He took a second sip and winced. At least it would keep him awake.  
  
  
  
"I'm not interested," Sydney said wearily. Her first night post-SD-6 and she was plagued by telemarketing. She threw the phone carelessly onto her bed and groaned. It was 8pm. She'd spent nearly ten hours reading over SD-6 personnel statements. Each of them was almost always the same, what they knew, what they thought they knew, what they thought of Sloane. Her eyes hurt, her body was tired and she still hadn't processed what had happened. She felt so very weary; as though she was wearing leaden clothing and being forced to stay awake forever. She'd never considered the aftermath. Never thought beyond a smiling face and warm congratulations when everything was said and done. All she'd thought about was a new life and a new job where the dental benefits didn't involve having teeth extracted as torture.  
  
The phone rang. For a split second, she intended to hurl it at the wall to watch it break. Commonsense won out.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
There was a silence.  
  
"Damnit," she muttered under her breath. "Hello?"  
  
She heard Vaughn laugh. "I'd ask for Joey's Pizza, but you'd probably kill me,"  
  
Sydney smiled softly and lay back on the pillows. If Joey's Pizza called, she would break the phone. "Hey,"  
  
"Thought I'd ring and see how you're doing,"  
  
She sighed. "I think exhausted falls short of how I'm feeling, but lets just go with it anyway,"  
  
The front door opened and she heard Will and Francie enter the house. They were noisy. Jubilant. Two heads poked around her bedroom door.  
  
"Congrats, Syd," Will said loudly. Francie glanced at him in confusion and shook her head.  
  
"He's been like this all day, stupidly cheery for no reason," she rolled her eyes, "If I hadn't been with him all day, I'd think he was drunk," Sydney grinned, unable to stop herself rejoicing at the beginning of the end. No more lies, no more half truths, no more 'bank trips', no more false clumsiness to excuse bruises.  
  
"You're busy,"  
  
"Yeah," she murmured. "I should talk to Will and Francie. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Yeah, of course. 'Night Syd,"  
  
"Goodnight Vaughn."  
  
As she walked through to her friends, she wondered whether this was how people smiled on their wedding day. It had been a long time since she'd fantasised about a wedding. The last time, the faces of Danny and Vaughn had merged into one. It had horrified her; would she never be able to love anyone except Danny? Would she be able to love Vaughn? Some days, though, forgetting Danny seemed like the most easy thing to do; forget, don't think about it, don't feel the guilt. Would she always think of him, always have him peeking over her shoulder, whispering in her mind? Soon after that daydream, all dreams and nightmares had ceased. Cold, exhausted sleep left no room for imagination.  
  
Will stopped listening to Francie when she stepped into the doorway. He gave a confused, hopeful expression and raised his eyebrows. Smothering her smile became impossible and she scrambled over their legs, falling between the two of them.  
  
They shifted sideways, their bodies facing her, open and ready to listen. She grinned widely at both of them, happiness in her eyes. "I quit," she whispered like a mischievous kid. Francie shoved her shoulder.  
  
"Get out!"  
  
She laughed and glanced over at Will. He sat there, shell-shocked. He'd heard about days like these; when everything that you were hoping for came true. He'd never imagined that on this day, the day he got everything back (his life, his job, his friends), that he'd still feel like he was missing something. Or maybe it wasn't absent, but simply misplaced, or not what he'd been expecting.  
  
"Have you finished? Completely?"  
  
Sydney shook her head. Finished completely? Maybe she'd never been truly done with SD6, but they were gone. "I still have a few weeks of work left, but then I'm taking a lot of time off. Finish my degree; maybe take a real holiday,"  
  
Time was so difficult. There were Right and Wrong times with capital letters. Now, for instance was The Wrong Time to tell Francie that her best friend had lied for years on end.  
  
She watched as Francie clambered off the lounge. "Wow, a real holiday?" she turned on lamps as she made her way to the kitchen. "Are Will and I invited?" But it was the Right time to start moving on.  
  
Everything felt normal; food in the kitchen, friends, warm lighting, a good bottle of wine and a few movies on TV. But there was something missing. For so long she'd missed the touch of someone who really loved her. Missed being able to sit down and just touch and be touched. She finally smiled softly. "Yeah, of course. If you want," she tucked her hair behind her left ear, her hand trailing down her neck. "I don't know when I'm going. I think I'm going to go to bed early, though. I have so much work to finish in the next few weeks,"  
  
Francie's face fell. "Already? But Syd," she raised a bottle of wine, "It's celebration time!"  
  
"Sorry. Why don't we celebrate when I don't have to work the next day?" she blew her a kiss. "Night Fran," Her eyes met Will's. She nodded to her room and he followed.  
  
  
  
She sat in the centre of her bed and drew her pillow into her lap. He leant against the doorjamb, his head resting against it. They looked at one another. Forlorn, she thought; he looked forlorn. Was he missing things too?  
  
"When?"  
  
"This morning. I pressed a gun to his throat," Will didn't smile. She had expected him to- Vaughn had- but then, he knew nothing of Sloane. Didn't know the disgust she felt at even associating with him. He had an idea, but knew nothing compared to what she really felt. She sighed and closed her eyes. "My father and I have spent all day reading the statements of all the SD-6 staff. I had to ring Diane and tell her a lie about why Dixon wouldn't be home for awhile. Marshall's probably in shock,"  
  
"You're probably in shock,"  
  
Shock. Shock. She hadn't considered that. She didn't feel enough to feel shock. She was numbed, still in disbelief. There had been no debriefing - no time - and she didn't really know where they were at in the whole scheme of things.  
  
"I'm lost, Will," she whispered. He sat beside her. When had he bypassed the potential love and settled into the role of comfortable old friend? Did it matter? At the end of the day, she was there for him, whether she was sleeping beside him or not. "What if I can't live a normal life ever again? What if I can't get used to it, or what if I can't even have a normal life? What if-"  
  
"What if you can?"  
  
She looked up at him, big brown eyes peeping out from under thick lashes. He fought to stop himself kissing her. It was getting easier and easier. He knew where her heart lay. Hell, her father and the entire CIA knew where her heart lay. And, as far as he knew, the poor guy hadn't even had the chance to lay one on her yet.  
  
"Syd, let it go, okay? You've just, like, annihilated some international big bad thing, and you're worrying already? Enjoy it!" he nudged her shoulder playfully. "You're a legend, okay?"  
  
She smiled and tugged back the covers. "Will?" he turned. "Thanks. For everything,"  
  
He smiled back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You're welcome."  
  
TBC.  
  
Reviews would be lovely. ( 


	3. Three

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
Notes: This is for Alicia, for submitting such a great review! *Thankyou*.  
  
The title comes from the following lyrics: "There's no point pointing pistols at me now, I'll just go I never should have asked you to be kind, but I'm slow, And I'm sorry but how can I get to you, Stuck in my fifty pound lead boots Stuck in my deep sea diving suit" Deep Sea Diving Suit - Magnetic Fields (with a great cover by The Lucksmiths)  
  
The title may change, however..  
  
-o-0-o-  
  
PART THREE  
  
"Having fun?"  
  
Sydney sighed. She was surrounded by mountains of files, hidden behind a barricade of papers. She looked up and smiled, pen still in hand.  
  
"Vaughn, hey,"  
  
He walked around and leant against the desk beside her. For a few seconds, she let herself just look; his suit was well-tailored, but comfortable, the jacket undone and hair slightly damp from the shower. He was smiling. He looked relaxed.  
  
"It's barely seven thirty, Syd. When did you get here?"  
  
She glanced at her watch. It had been just past six when she'd slipped out the door, a note left on the fridge. "About an hour ago," she watched his expression change to concern. "I really want to get this done quickly. I was talking to Francie last night, and once this is done I'm going to take time off, probably go on holidays for awhile,"  
  
Vaughn smiled sadly. "No more annoying Joey's Pizza calls, hey?"  
  
"They were never that annoying, Vaughn," Sydney said softly, smiling a little. "Inconvenient, maybe, but not annoying,"  
  
For a moment, time was suspended. It was just Sydney and Vaughn, finally able to just relax and not worry about glances over their shoulders and appearing indifferent to one another. Finally, he looked away. "Have you eaten breakfast?"  
  
"No," Nor dinner, she thought. Once again, her own life was taking a backseat to her work. "Why?"  
  
"CIA officers are either here at seven or don't crawl in until eight thirty," he held out his hand, "Which gives us exactly enough time to go downstairs and patronise the disgustingly overpriced excuse for a café,"  
  
Sydney found protestations spilling from her mouth before she registered how much she wanted to have breakfast with him. "I really should get to-" she cut herself off and frowned. "I've waited three years for this. The CIA can wait a few days for some stupid reports,"  
  
"Stupid reports?" Vaughn repeated, grinning in disbelief. "This from the woman who was here at six in the morning to get started on them," she blushed faintly, "You need to eat, Syd,"  
  
"I said yes, didn't I?"  
  
"A few crappy pastries are hardly breakfast. I should be cooking you a big old fashioned bacon, eggs, sausages and tomato breakfast," he considered his words. "Uh, I didn't mean-"  
  
Sydney took his hand gently as they walked out of her makeshift office. "It sounds really good," she snuck a glance and felt a thrill at the look of pure awe on his face. "If you make me breakfast, the least I can do is have Francie make you dinner," she smiled brightly. "Hey, you can finally meet her now. She's been dying to meet you; she thinks I've been having an affair with some guy at work,"  
  
"An affair?"  
  
"Clandestine meetings," she explained with a smirk. "Getting ideas, Agent Vaughn?" she laughed lightly as his cheek coloured. They stepped into the sunlight and she stopped to look directly at him. "This is nice,"  
  
"We've waited long enough. I think we deserve the right to look at each other,"  
  
Sydney followed him to the café on the corner. For thirty minutes, they sat and ate, chatting mainly about work.  
  
"Do you know what you're going to do now?"  
  
He watched helplessly as she clammed up. "I- wow, we should be getting back, Vaughn, it's-"  
  
"Syd,"  
  
"Nearly eight thirty. I should-"  
  
He grabbed her hands and held them pinned to the table. "What are you afraid of?"  
  
"I'm not-"  
  
"Syd. Please, tell me," he implored. She looked into his eyes. In the bright morning light, they seemed such a lovely greeny grey, something she could stare at forever, to just watch the colours constantly change. The trust and emotion she saw there unsettled her. For so long, so so long, they had had to ignore what they saw in each other, had to struggle to keep emotions in check. It was strange and almost surreal to suddenly be able to let it all out.  
  
She looked around anxiously. There were so many people in dark suits, sitting alone, eating alone, or just with one other person. Was this normal? Did she strive to be a part of a black-suited sombre world?  
  
"Not here," she whispered, "Not now."  
  
Then when? The question loomed between them. "Here," she took the napkin from her lap and grabbed the pen from his pocket. On it, she wrote the name of Francie's restaurant, its address and the time. Seven. She didn't like the way people started dinner at eight; she was starving by eight, not ready to sit down and wait. Besides, it left so much time wasted; people who spent all their time on appearances weren't really living. From when the sun went down to eight (or in her case seven) was plenty of time to wriggle into a PVC dress and shove on stiletto heels ready to commit an act of international espionage. She did it all the time. Dinner at her friend's joint was nothing compared to that.  
  
He took it, creases forming in his forehead as he read her words. "Isn't this-"  
  
"Francie's place," she asserted as she got to her feet. She dropped her sunglasses down on her nose. "I've gotta go. I'll, I don't know, see you inside,"  
  
As she walked into the sunlight, she felt light layers of sweat spring from her pores. It was twenty past eight. She had files surrounding her desk like a brick barricade and more waiting in cells beneath her feet. As she walked into the comparative comfort of the offices, she noted that she hadn't left any money for breakfast. The thought was buried when she opened the first file. A black and white identity photo of one Marcus Dixon stared back at her. In the middle of the maze that was the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, Sydney Bristow felt the familiar weight begin to settle.  
  
"take me out tonight  
  
oh take me anywhere, I don't care  
  
and in the darken underpass  
  
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last  
  
(but then a strange fear gripped me and I  
  
just couldn't ask) take me out tonight" - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths (The Queen Is Dead)  
  
  
  
  
  
At three thirty, Agent Bristow closed the last file of the day. Whoever's statement lay next could handle one more night in custody; she'd spent four years an unwilling hostage of SD-6, a few nights held by the CIA was nothing in comparison. It wasn't Dixon, Marshall or anyone else she had been close to. Her father had told her earlier that Dixon had been granted bail. There were further interrogations and questionings pending, but that was expected. Marshall, however, was being held for longer. His intimate knowledge of SD-6 tech gear meant he had been deemed a potential threat, not to mention the danger he could be placed in should he be targeted by the Alliance.  
  
"Sydney, are you ready?"  
  
She grabbed her bag and smiled brightly at Eric. "Sure am Weiss,"  
  
They waited for the lift in awkward silence. The doors slid open. One other agent was waiting. Sydney managed to sustain the silence until they departed a floor later.  
  
"Nice little stunt you pulled this morning, Syd," Weiss commented dryly.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
He took in the expression on her face. For a spy, she was completely naïve. "Mike loves you. I know this. You know this. Seems a bit crass to finally reach the end of all this and decide that he's reached his use-by date," he glanced sideways. "Is that all he was? Someone to lean on when no-one else was around?"  
  
"[i]What[/i]?" She stopped walking and pressed her hand over her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I was using Vaughn?"  
  
Weiss snorted. "Oh, come on Sydney. You risk your lives for each other, spend four years meeting in secret and calling each other at four a.m and suddenly talking about the future is some difficult issue?" he shook his head. "I'd like to believe its something else, but this is you and Mike. He goes through hell here for you, Sydney. Don't play him," he swiped his card through the access scanner. "Through here."  
  
'Through her'e led to the CIA's on-site correctional cells. There were at least one hundred. The guard stood and nodded as he saw them enter. An agent, a middle aged woman, her skin still soft from a life indoors, walked to the Perspex grate.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Weiss and Bristow. We're here to speak with Marcus Dixon,"  
  
The woman tapped at an unseen keyboard. "Release forms will be at the door. Are you his escorts?" Weiss nodded. Sydney looked on in confusion.  
  
"I thought we were just visiting," she whispered as the woman made her way into the adjoining corridor.  
  
"Yeah," Weiss shrugged. "I guess someone pulled a few strings," he shook his head, obviously angered by Sydney's actions. "Look. You're a good person. You're probably scared of something, but can I give you some advice?" she nodded. "Whatever you're planning on doing, do it soon. He's pulling his hair out up there, thinks something's wrong, I don't know. Reckons you always tell him what you're thinking," he stopped as the agent pointed to a door. "Talk to him tonight, or."  
  
She grabbed his elbow before he entered the room. The woman had left, secure in the knowledge that they were about to enter. "Eric. I honestly intended to," she forced a smile, content with the grimace she got instead. "We've got a good man to free,"  
  
The full extent of her statement did not escape them.  
  
TBC.  
  
-- Again.reviews would be lovely, thanks!  
  
Posts may slow down somewhat soon.just an advanced warning! 


	4. Four

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
  
  
Take me out tonight Because I want to see people and I want to see life  
  
-There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, The Smiths  
  
The dinner had been nothing spectacular. No heartfelt words had been spoken, no wounds had been tended to and no hurt had been eased. The conversation had been dotted with pointed silences, surprise and looks that no longer needed to be hidden. After the plates were cleared for dessert, things became too much. Vaughn couldn't handle the unbearable politeness. They knew each other better than this, they had to. First dates were always awkward, but was it even a first date; maybe it was their last if he understood Sydney's run-away correctly.  
  
"Let's get out of here," he whispered. He watched as Sydney's brows shot up; her cheeks coloured and she struggled to hide a smirk. Perhaps the phrase famous in bars the world over had been the wrong choice of wording. He struggled to amend it, the his vocabulary having deserted him, leaving instead a barrage of once-inappropriate mental images.  
  
"I don't mean-," he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. "We really need to discuss some things, Syd,"  
  
She glanced up and looked him in the eye. Without bothering to mask what she felt, she nodded once. Without a second thought, she gathered her things and walked to the door. As the turned towards the pier - not 'their' pier, but once she found equally as comforting and familiar- his hand took hers. Softly, almost tentatively, his fingertips slid across her palm and through her fingers. She felt herself spread apart as his fingers moved between hers, finally clamping down and squeezing her hand comfortingly. The longed-for contact was enough to make her sigh in contentment.  
  
The lights of the adjoining strip glittered on the black water. On the pier Sydney and Vaughn stood, leaning against the wood. It was smooth and shining, polished by a thousand hands and hips.  
  
"So."  
  
Sydney pressed her lips together. "Yeah,"  
  
Vaughn sighed. "Weiss said he.talked to you today," he looked down at her. "What did he say?"  
  
"Oh, Vaughn, he was just concerned-"  
  
"Sydney, whatever he said-"  
  
Sydney grabbed his hand. "He was right," she smiled slightly at his look of surprise. "I'm sorry about today. I was rude,"  
  
"You had stuff on your mind,"  
  
She fought the urge to be touched by his understanding. He was sweet, gentle and forgiving. And she felt like she was using this. "That's no excuse, Vaughn," she sighed. Things were becoming awkward and emotion- charged. She looked desperately to diffuse the tension. "It's weird being out here in the open. Talking to each other, looking at each other.I used to wonder if this would ever happen. Whether I'd die first,"  
  
The look of terrified concern made her sting. If she knew he'd react like that, she wouldn't have told him. She hated pity. Loathed it.  
  
"Syd-"  
  
"Only sometimes," she said lightly, backtracking. This was meant to be a light talk, not a deep and meaningful. "Things got pretty heavy back there. I never had time to unwind. I never knew how to unwind. My idea of relaxing was punching a bag instead of a face,"  
  
Vaughn sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Still, she frustrated him through his helplessness. "I'm sorry-"  
  
"For what?" she asked. "You didn't put a foot wrong, Vaughn. You were there, providing me with enough hope without overstepping the boundaries we'd set."  
  
Despite the unresolved tension between them over the years, Vaughn had provided the only light in the tunnel. A 'normal' life, that too, but what was normal when you still had to lie about your past? Vaughn was a possibility; he was potential for greatness, something she had to strive for. Ending it early, by running away or through more permanent means, would have left her with nothing; no revenge, no hope, no love, no life. But, when the fight became less about Danny and more about Vaughn, her focus shifted. She wasn't fighting fuelled by anger anymore; she was fuelled by desire, by hope, by promise. The anger had been quelled; it was still there, but it didn't burn at her anymore. This, being driven by love, if that was what it was, was healthier. She didn't fear the fight anymore. She feared the fight ending before it should.  
  
She had hated every day. Every day she wondered whether today would be the day she was discovered, the day she died. She lived every day for the next, and the next, and the next. Vaughn embodied the life that awaited her. She just had to get to him first.  
  
"I always wished I could do more," he admitted sadly. "I felt so useless, sitting at a desk writing reports while you put your life on the line. You willingly put yourself in jeopardy whenever anyone asked. You'd leave with a smile on your face, looking so confident and I'd be sitting in LA, petrified and in perfect safety,"  
  
"I'd usually be scared, but I used to think 'Vaughn wouldn't send me to my death'. I sometimes, at the start, used to imagine dying on a mission. Finally having an end to the uncertainty, to the waiting," he moved to interrupt, wanting to say something, anything to reassure them both. She spoke over him. "But after awhile, what I wanted at the end outweighed the every day pain."  
  
She stepped closer to him and wrapped her hand around his upper arm, pulling it closer to her. "I'm worried that I'll never have a normal life. I'm worried that we've put each other on a pedestal and will be disappointed. I'm worried that."  
  
Her voice faded into the ocean waves and night sky. "What, Syd?" he pressed, "What are you-"  
  
"What if, after all these years, we still can't be together?"  
  
Their eyes met; terror and confusion, green and brown, relief and trepidation.  
  
Vaughn turned to face her. His hands ran over her collarbone, across her shoulders and rested at last above her elbows. His thumbs drifted up and down on her bare skin, letting them both just feel. Their gaze locked, and a smile emerged on his face. Slowly, so slowly, her fragility faded at his touch. This was right. This was right and this was true and this was now.  
  
"We can be," he said. "We can be, and even if there is every anything, anyone, that says we can't be, we'll beat it, just like we beat SD-6. Together," his voice was firm, and his grip tightened. "We'll fight them together, Syd, and we'll win. We'll do anything together."  
  
She pushed up on her toes, raising her face closer to his. Her hands travelled swiftly up his sides and held his face gently. She pushed her fingertips into his hair. A stunning, triumphant smile, spilled onto her face. After four long, heart-shattering, bone-breaking years, they could be together. She could be his and he hers. At last. They were so close that if he just moved slightly, their lips, noses, eyelashes, would touch. His lips tingled.  
  
"I love you," she breathed, before their lips met. Who kissed whom, they didn't know. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except skin on skin, mouths on mouths.  
  
Later that night, as Michael held Sydney in his arms, on his bed, they said those words again and again and again. Because they could. Because they wanted to. Because they were free at last.  
  
But 'free' is such a relative term.  
  
  
  
She awoke naked beneath a thin white sheet. Unaccustomed to her surroundings, she listened. From the door on her left, she could hear the splashes of water and the sound of something being expelled from a compression can. Shaving cream, probably. She shivered and glanced at the ceiling fan. She was loathe to turn it off; the soft whirring was a pleasant sound in the early morning calm. Instead, she reached to the foot of the bed and pulled the navy and white striped doona over her. It smelt of Vaughn, and she nuzzled her face into it. Had she wanted to, she could probably nuzzle him directly, but the bed was too comfortable, and it was nice to just be in his bedroom. With him showering in the next room, it felt so comfortable and so very normal that she wondered what it would take to get her to leave.  
  
As the clock ticked onto seven o'clock, the alarm buzzed. Sydney automatically switched it off, and with a languorous stretch dragged herself from the bed. She stood at the window and wrapped herself in the sheet. From Vaughn's window, you could see across a handful of backyards, all full of plants and greenery. A few abandoned, sun-bleached balls lay by fences and lazy dogs made their morning ambles across dewy lawns.  
  
The door swung open abruptly and she heard Vaughn begin to apologise. "Sorry, I should have turned the alarm off,"  
  
She turned around and smiled sweetly. "I was already awake," she said. "I love this room," Without a thought, she reached her hand out to him. He took it and moved closer. His hair was wet and dripping unchecked down his chest. The water transferred to her face as she leant against him.  
  
"I have to be at work in three quarters of an hour,"  
  
"I know. So do I," he nodded to the bathroom. "Use mine, no use going home. I'll.try to iron your shirt and suit,"  
  
Sydney nodded. As she stepped into the shower, she let her mind wander. Everything that had previously been forbidden by the CIA was still forbidden; protocol still existed and Agent Vaughn technically remained Agent Bristow's handler. As she rummaged through his vanity in search of anything that would make her more presentable, she wondered whether she would soon be unemployed. No bank, no SD-6 and no degree meant no money. Thanks to her mother, she no longer knew if she wanted anything to do with teaching literature. She stared into the mirror, uncertain of what was staring back at her. 


	5. Five

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
  
  
[I]love is natural and real  
  
but not for such as you and I, my love -I Know It's Over - The Smiths[/I]  
  
No longer acutely involved in the SD-6 project, Sydney's second official day at CIA was to be spent skimming files and answering questions. She was excluded from the interview process, and was not able to speak to those in protective custody without another agent present. People who had only been on the sidelines for the past years were now busier than ever. Sydney, on the other hand, was left all but twiddling her thumbs and sticking gold stars on accurate reports- or at least her signature. Unlike Sydney, Jack remained actively involved in the aftermath, speaking with those in protective custody and meeting with other interviewers to ascertain innocence or guilt. It was Jack who would assist in preparing the evidence that would bring Sloane down. Sydney would just be giving evidence in court.  
  
There was something in Jack Bristow's eyes that she hadn't seen for a long time, if ever. She'd never considered the weight that her father had carried all these years. He'd been a double agent much longer then she had, and his role was even more important. He was also a long way past twenty- nine.  
  
They met in the office they now shared, Sydney with a cup of creamy latte and muffin, her father with his second strong, short black.  
  
"I noticed you arrived with Agent Vaughn this morning,"  
  
Sydney adjusted her suit self-consciously. She'd had the presence of mind to stop by her house on the way home to change. The rest of her, however, looked more relaxed then usual. Her hair was just overdue for a wash and her makeup was far lighter than usual. But even more telling was her scent. The only perfume she wore was a tiny dab of Vaughn's cologne, having decided it was better then nothing.  
  
She didn't need to reply.  
  
"I didn't think I'd need to remind you that your safety is still compromised, Sydney. It is possible that you remain a potential target. Other branches of the Alliance may become aware of your role and feel threatened."  
  
She had known this. Blood rushed to her face and she blushed in embarrassment. In their desperation last night, they had ignored the thought.  
  
"I know. But it's safer now, and it's unlikely that they would focus specifically on me. Other CIA agents are likely to become the targets," she glanced out the window. "And I can't just disappear. Not now,"  
  
Jack exhaled briskly. "I'm not suggesting you disappear, Sydney. I'm suggesting that you ensure you take a break and to remain alert. Take a holiday and give things time to settle. There's no point in risking your life now, not after-"  
  
"And there's no point delaying it, either," they glared at one another.  
  
"At least consider it," he said finally. "Devlin will undoubtedly make you an offer of employment. You need to know how you'll respond,"  
  
Sydney brushed back her hair and tugged at each sleeve. "I will." She promised.  
  
  
  
Late that afternoon, just before three fifty nine became four o'clock, Sydney was called to Ben Devlin's office. He smiled as she walked in and invited her to sit. She wished she hadn't; clearly the director got much better chairs than the 'lowly' special agent Sydney Bristow. Her back had been aching all day.  
  
"I've said it before, but I'm going to repeat myself. Congratulations, Sydney, and thankyou. You've done extremely well. The agency is very proud of you,"  
  
She nodded and smiled in way of thanks. She'd wanted to be out of the office by four so she could head home, spend an hour with Francie and then sort out something with Vaughn. Michael, now. By the look on Devlin's face, this wasn't going to be a brief chat.  
  
"You're a very valuable member of the CIA, Sydney, and we don't intend on letting your skills go to waste. However, Jack informed me that you were looking forward to getting off the front line, so to speak. In light of that, I've spoken with the other directors, and we've organised an offer to make you. Are you interested in remaining with the CIA, Sydney?"  
  
She hadn't expected the question to come so soon. In her mind, she hadn't expected Devlin to be so active about retaining her, after all, it wasn't as though she was likely to suddenly skip out and get another job like hers; unless she was intending to commit serious acts of treason, which was highly unlikely. But she had spent any free moments considering the future, and not just the warm and fuzzy daydream future.  
  
"I am,"  
  
This pleased him immensely, and it showed. He sat back, his hands folded on the desk. Obviously, others had considered this a much more difficult task. "That's very good news, Sydney. What I am proposing to you, is that you take leave until the 21st, when we will have a formal offer to present to you. As it stands at the moment, we're expecting to be able to offer you a desk position assisting in the planning of operations. If you are no longer willing to work in the field, at least here your skills will not be wasted. Obviously, you will be required to work in other areas should the need be shown,"  
  
"That sounds good, Agent Devlin," she said softly. It did. "I'll definitely need that time to make up my mind. There are a lot of things I need to consider,"  
  
"Including your relationship with Agent Michael Vaughn," he nodded. "We are not blind here, Sydney. These things happen, and are discouraged. However, we feel that if necessary, you and Agent Vaughn will be able to conduct yourselves professionally. It's unlikely that you will be working in the same areas," He leant forward, his expression suddenly deathly serious. "You are too talented for us to let you go just because you are in a relationship with an Agent who used to be your handler. Don't let that idea sway your decision, Ms Bristow,"  
  
--  
  
"So, Romeo. Hockey; not exactly your typical second date with a woman like Syd," he frowned. "And I still haven't heard what a first date with Syd was like,"  
  
Vaughn lead them to their seats, counting across the row and finally, after pushing past countless pairs of legs, sat down. He had half expected Syd to be here by now; the queues for these games were always hideous, and it paid to arrive early if you wanted to catch the pre-game stuff. Eric and Mike, being hardcore sports fans, always wanted to catch the pre-game wind-up. It was crucial in setting the mood for the evening. They both knew Will wasn't a hockey fan, so even he wouldn't be able to help them.  
  
"And I'm still not going to," he said, taking the half-spilt beer from Eric and dropping the soaked cardboard tray to his feet. "Do you think it was such a good idea for us to go separately?"  
  
"Five people in one car? I know there's room, but, really; there's no room," he patted his mate's shoulder. "Good idea. Great one. Now about you and Bristow."  
  
In a twist of chance that was proving Fate may just be on their side, the Kings were playing in LA that Friday night. This prevented Vaughn and Sydney with a dilemma: Vaughn always, without fail, went to the hockey with Eric. It was their thing; they went, got the best seats they could pay for and shelled out too much money on beer that ended up spilling as they walked to their seats anyway, all while screaming themselves hoarse. Sydney, on the other hand, had sworn she would celebrate her 'resignation' with Francie and Will.  
  
An offhand comment from Eric suggesting that Vaughn introduce Sydney to the hockey had set the night in motion. He hadn't really expected the enthusiastic response from Syd and Vaughn. He'd expected Vaughn to be eager - any girlfriend was forced to watch the games on TV with them, if not attend games - but Sydney's almost desperate approval had surprised him. And so, here they were, waiting for Sydney and her two friends to show up to watch a hockey game. For some reason, Vaughn didn't mind that their date wasn't going to be private. In fact, he seemed thrilled.  
  
"What about me and Sydney?" Vaughn grumbled irritably as someone spilled Coke behind him, sending it gushing beneath his feet; he hated sticky flooring.  
  
Weiss knocked back the rest of his beer and wiped his lip. "Come on, Mike. I put up with a lot for you guys, and I spent enough time distracting you whenever she went away, so that makes me privy to any information. She's not here yet, so talk, buddy, talk."  
  
Vaughn grinned as he watched Will battling his way past the rows of feet. "Yeah, she is,"  
  
"Damn it," Weiss muttered as he waved to Will and Syd. There was someone following them, a woman he didn't know.  
  
"Hey," Sydney said brightly, looking only at Vaughn. She took the vacant seat beside him, throwing Eric a quick smile. "Sorry we're late. Francie got caught up at the restaurant," She glanced over at Francie's expectant face. "Oh. Francie Calfo, this is Eric Weiss.a friend of Vau- Michael's,"  
  
Eric stretched in front of the couple and shook her hand. "Hope you like hockey, Francie," he nodded at Will. "Want a beer, man?"  
  
Will looked at the empty and half full plastic beer cups. "Only if you're getting one,"  
  
"Oh, I am," Weiss assured him. "I feel like I haven't had a drink in years,"  
  
Vaughn snorted. "Or, you know, for at least a day or so," he drained the last of his, grinned at Sydney's look of faint surprise. "Get one for me, too," he glanced over at her. "Do you want anything?"  
  
"Just a Coke, thanks,"  
  
Francie snapped her fingers at Will, who nodded. "Come on, Syd, live a little. It's sport, remember? Will's first rule of sport is you drink beer if you're over eighteen, and get someone else to buy it for you if you're not,"  
  
The guys laughed and Will stood to get the drinks. "I might need a hand to carry them, if you want them to drink and not to lick off the grandstand,"  
  
Francie leapt up. "I'll come too,"  
  
Will and Eric attempted to reassure her that they didn't need help. She looked at Sydney and Vaughn pointedly. "Oh."  
  
The five, the most unlikely of companions at one time, had enjoyed the game. The Kings were playing well and everything was moving smoothly. But nothing stays smooth forever.  
  
"I never thought we'd get here," Sydney confessed. Vaughn nodded in agreement. "I thought I'd just get to dream, and just have to make do with our park meetings or something," she said as they jostled their way to the exits. Will was lagging behind, talking on his phone while Weiss and Francie, who had struck a spark together, moved ahead. One particularly fierce shove sent Sydney pitching forward. Vaughn automatically reached out and grabbed her arm, saving her from embarrassment. He wasn't the only one, however. On her other side, a man dressed plainly, a cap hiding his face, also took hold.  
  
"They're pleased SD-6 is gone. They won't be if you try anything else. Stay quiet, Sydney Bristow, or you'll be a target," the man growled in her ear. She attempted to grab him as his slid through the crowd, shoving people aside in haste.  
  
Vaughn put an arm around her. "What was that about?" he asked, having missed the exchange. Her pale face was enough to raise his suspicions. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"No. I think he works for the Alliance. He said something about them being happy SD-6 is down, and,"  
  
"And?"  
  
"That if I try and do any more, I could be a target,"  
  
He swore. Things were just starting to look hopeful. The CIA would go nuts with this. A restful break was not looking likely now. "We should call Jack,"  
  
"Eventually," she said slowly. "I don't think it was a threat, just a warning.the Alliance was always pretty competitive, and they're probably glad I knocked Sloane out of the way. But they'll all be terrified that the rest will crumble now,"  
  
"Even so-"  
  
"Not now, Michael," she said, forcing herself to relax and smile, enjoy herself. "If they wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now," she squeezed his hand. "It was just a warning,"  
  
"Syd-"  
  
"Not now, please not now," she whispered as they caught up to Francie and Weiss.  
  
Eric grabbed Vaughn's hand and shook it. "I live closer to Francie and Will, so they're gonna drop me home. I assume you and Syd'll be kicking on awhile longer," He nodded. Weiss frowned. Something was off. He leant in slightly, spoke softly. "Everything okay?"  
  
"Someone just bumped into Syd, gave her a warning about not trying anything else with the Alliance. She doesn't want to do anything now,"  
  
Weiss sighed. "She's right, man. There's nothing we can do right now. Wait 'til morning, talk to Jack, get the security tapes and try and ID the guy. Try and relax, enjoy yourselves,"  
  
Vaughn attempted to smile. The last thing on his mind now was relaxing. He took Sydney's hand, squeezing it tightly - almost too tightly, she thought as she took his hand in hers and kissed it. They walked through the emptying carpark to his car. His not-so-subtle check of the car did nothing to sooth her nerves. She watched in silence as he pretended to grope on the ground for dropped keys, checking beneath the car as he did so.  
  
"Vaughn-"  
  
He slammed the door and held her face gently. "Please don't say 'relax', Sydney, because you know I can't," she nodded silently. "Okay. We're going back to my place, and then first thing tomorrow you're going to call your father and I'm going to pull those surveillance tapes," he rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone. "This is just a bump in the road,"  
  
"I know," she said, not even believing herself.  
  
They looked at each other, both believing someone had turned out the light in the world. Things couldn't get worse; they wouldn't let it. 


	6. Six

Author : Amelie (user Iselia) Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be. Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! ( Rating: PG13  
  
  
  
The level of attention being paid to her mystery contact surprised Sydney. The destruction of SD-6 was at a critical stage, and yet at least ten agents had been pulled from the case to track down the mystery man.  
  
Weiss slapped a paper-clipped bunch of black and white stills onto the desk. "We pulled these from the security tapes," he said. "We tried to get as many angles as possible, but still don't have a front on facial shot. The techs are working on that, though,"  
  
Vaughn snatched the up and flipped through them. "I'll get someone to run this through the SD-6 database we've started," he paused and handed them to Sydney. "Does he look at all familiar, Syd?"  
  
She stared at the image for as long as she could. Finally, she just shook her head. It felt futile. So much for being free of SD-6, free of over-the- shoulder glances and constantly checking for observers.  
  
He sighed and handed the file back to Weiss. "I'll have to write up a report about this," he ran a hand through his hair. "You're meant to be on leave, Syd,"  
  
Sydney nodded silently. She spent so much time working when she was meant to be on leave that it didn't really make a difference to her anymore. She knew that at least half her leave would be spent answering concerns about SD-6, talking things over with Dixon or Marshall or even just listening to Vaughn and her father talk shop.  
  
"I think I'll just stick around here for awhile. Knowing my luck, I'd get home only to be called back for something,"  
  
Vaughn sighed. It wasn't meant to be like this. He watched as she smiled slightly, moving to take his hand. "I'm going to get a coffee and maybe wander around a little. I won't be far, so-"  
  
"I'll call if anything comes up," he promised. She bit her lip and nodded. There was no way she would voice how terrified she was that this tiny slip of happiness would be cruelly snatched away from her.  
  
It was three hours before Weiss returned to his desk. He handed him a print- out and leant against the desk. Vaughn lifted it gently and began to read.  
  
"Marcus Olfield-"  
  
Weiss couldn't be bothered waiting for him to read. "Olfield was involved in SD-6 until roughly two years ago. He and Sydney were stationed in different areas, and he was involved more behind the scenes. Apparently, he was in analysis, which meant he knew everything. Or, according to the sketchy intel we have, he found out the truth. Sloane didn't like this; Olfield was a patriot to heart and he knew enough to effectively destroy SD- 6 thus getting Sloane a one-way ticket to prison.  
  
"According to Jack, who only knew of Olfield by name, Sloane ordered a hit on him. Instead, Olfield has somehow managed to all but disappear. Sloane believed he'd run to Bolivia, which was far enough away to be a fairly low threat to SD-6. But he's back, as we know,"  
  
Vaughn was reeling. "So, how do we get a hold of him? What does he want?"  
  
Weiss handed him another file. "It seems Olfield has been somehow keeping tabs on SD-6. We don't know how; he trained Marshall, however, and we think that maybe he had bugs planted. We can't be sure. It seems that he was warning Sydney not to push any further, to keep out of things,"  
  
"So you're saying the CIA is writing this off as a caution from an ex- agent?"  
  
"Effectively, yes," Weiss said frankly. "But the CIA remains interested in tracking Olfield down. If knows what he seems to know, then he could be an important asset in the legal side of things," he smirked suddenly. "And it'd really piss Sloane off,"  
  
Vaughn found himself grinning. It was short lived. "They're talking about sending Syd to bring him in when they pin him down,"  
  
A million things flashed through his mind. "Eric, she's on leave, they can't -"  
  
Weiss shook his head. "They can and they will. Think about it, Vaughn; he wanted to warn her. To help keep her alive. He knew that by making contact he ran a serious risk of being found. He wants to be found, Mike. And we need to find him,"  
  
  
  
Jack Bristow watched as his daughter stalked up the stairs of the faded apartment block. It was well past midnight, and the light in apartment 46B was still burning. Jack, and the other mission supervisors, wondered whether Olfield knew they were coming. He wouldn't put it past him- the word in SD-6 had been that the man was a genius. Any man who Sloane feared was extremely intelligent and extremely dangerous.  
  
Then again, so was his daughter.  
  
"I'm there. The door's not shut," Sydney's voice cut through the air in the vans. The highly suspect looking black vans, parked three in a row in a quiet suburban street. They listened as she entered.  
  
"Hello? Mr Olfield, my name is Agent Bristow from the CIA. I'm here to learn what you know,"  
  
A man, pale from lack of sunlight stepped from the kitchen. "Hello, Agent Bristow," She watched as he flicked the safety off the gun. He was a scrawny looking man in his late fifties. She knew she could easily defeat him if threatened. And, it seemed, so did he, hence the gun. "What do you want to know?"  
  
Weiss leant forward and pressed the tiny comm button on the panel. "Don't let him speak; we've only got forty minutes of record time. Get him out of there and out here. We want him at the ops centre, Syd,"  
  
She inched towards the man. "I want to thank you for what you said to me,"  
  
"Everyone is entitled to trying to enact their dreams, Agent Bristow," he said with an air of detachment. "But some dreams are not possible. Trying to fly will always end in disaster. Love is equally as dangerous to ones health, especially in cases such as ours," he pointed to the sagging couches. "Take a seat, Ms Bristow. I'll tell you what you want to know,"  
  
She hesitated, listening to Weiss and the other officers speaking over each other in the van. "Not here," she said quickly. "Come with me. We- the CIA- want to speak to you. We want to give you a life back,"  
  
Sydney was unsettled by the life this man appeared to lead. They were eerily similar, each living a ghost of the life they had before Arvin Sloane ambushed them. She watched as his eyes flitted across the room. Suddenly, the cold detachment vanished, replaced in his eyes by a heartbreaking sadness. Against her better judgement, she extended her hand to this broken man. From the vans, the CIA operatives watched in silence.  
  
"Please," she whispered. "You helped me. I want to do the same,"  
  
He did not touch her hand, but stared at it, as though he was confused by this gesture of humanity. Finally, he nodded his head. "Give me a moment,"  
  
Sydney leant against the wall. He moved around the flat, opening a can of cat food and spooning it into a pink plastic bowl. He popped open the latches on a battered briefcase. With wrinkled hands, he shuffled papers around; he pulled things out of envelopes, glanced them over and replaced them where they lay. Finally, he snapped it shut, lifted it and walked to the door. "Where am I going?"  
  
She shut the door behind her. "There are cars waiting on the street. They'll take you to the CIA,"  
  
"And you, Sydney? Where are you going?"  
  
She pushed open the glass doors that led outside from the lobby. "I think I'm going home,"  
  
"I don't intend on meeting with you again, Agent Bristow. You should heed my warning; detach yourself from all involvement with SD-6. It may be gone, but it is not forgotten."  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, the CIA interrogation team were upon them, leading him to an unmarked vehicle. Weiss, Vaughn and Jack walked over to her.  
  
"You should go home, Sydney. I believe we should listen to what Olfield told you,"  
  
Sydney stared at him. "And you, Dad? You're involved in this too,"  
  
'I know. But there are many reasons for you to live, Sydney. There is only one reason for me,"  
  
They watched one another. "Isn't that enough?" she whispered finally, desperately. Vaughn took her hand in his. "Isn't that enough, Dad?"  
  
Jack brushed his fingertips across her cheek. "It should be. It will be," he turned back to Weiss and Vaughn. "Agents, you are dismissed. Take her home, Agent Vaughn and ensure she is not present at work tomorrow. Involve Mr Tippin, if need be,"  
  
He turned and walked to his car. Sydney watched. It wasn't much, but it was a start.  
  
"Seven,"  
  
"Eight?" Sydney laughed. "Why eight?"  
  
"Why twenty-nine?" he countered. Sydney smirked. "Eight is a perfectly good number. It's proven to be a lucky number on plenty of occasions,"  
  
It was the sort of conversation that occurred naturally after a few drinks at three a.m. Somehow along the way, favourite movies and music had turned into favourite numbers, favourite letters and favourite drinks.  
  
Vaughn lay back against the pillows and pulled Sydney on top of him. "Favourite.place,"  
  
"Hm," she mumbled, her speech slurring slightly with sleep. "Maybe here,"  
  
They smiled at each other, ridiculously giddy for two CIA agents who have just discovered a major asset in their destruction of SD-6. "Is that so?" he pushed her off gently and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. "And here?"  
  
She lifted her lips to his, grinning. "Yeah, here's good too."  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in his cell, Arvin Sloane was sweating. He wasn't meant to be stuck in a tiny cell, covered only by a synthetic blend blanket. There wasn't meant to be armed guards watching his every move. He was meant to have power. Real power. Now, all he had was the power given to him by his legal right.  
  
Or maybe he had a little more. Maybe he could still make people cry. Maybe.  
  
TBC..  
  
I'm aware that chapter was possibly the worst ever written, but meh. Candy is dandy, but reviews are sweeter..hint. ( 


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